


Jealousy Looks Beautiful on You

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kittens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here you go, canadiangarrison: kittens, petting, and jealous pouty Aramis. Porthos, of course, as well. Being adorable. And Athos drinks wine, because I love Athos and totally ship Athos with wine</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy Looks Beautiful on You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanadianGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/gifts).



“Porthos? I’m home, love!” Aramis calls, hanging up his coat. 

 

Usually if Porthos is back first, and he is back first tonight Aramis knows from the lights, he’ll come out of whatever room he’s in to greet Aramis. But Aramis has already been inside long enough to look through the post, take his shoes off, hang up his bag, find his phone, and put his coat on the peg, and still no Porthos. 

 

“In the living-room!” Porthos calls back, then he giggles. 

 

Aramis sighs. He knows, he just knows. He goes through anyway, just in case he’s wrong, but no. There’s Porthos, sprawled on his front, up on his elbows, playing with the kitten. Again. Aramis scowls .

 

“Look,” Porthos says, and jerks the piece of string he’s holding. The kitten leaps in an implausible shape, and Porthos giggles again. “Aw, look at ‘er, ‘mis!”

 

“Yes, lovely. Are we having dinner tonight, or just petting the cat, like yesterday?” Aramis asks. 

 

“Dunno, grouch. Are you making anything?” Porthos says, scooping the kitten up and rolling onto his back, placing the kitten on his chest. The cat walks carefully to Porthos’ stomach and curls up. That’s Aramis’ favourite spot. Aramis scowls harder. 

 

“I thought you were making dinner tonight? You said you’d do pasta bake,” Aramis snaps. 

 

“Eh, I forgot. Not that hungry, really.”

 

“Fine. I’ll just eat the leftover risotto in the fridge, and you can do what you like.”

 

Aramis turns to stalk away, but Porthos makes that quiet, guilty noise that Aramis knows so well. He turns back slowly. Porthos is petting the kitten with two fingers, focus trained on the soft fur, carefully avoiding Aramis’ gaze.

 

“You ate it?” Aramis says. “Fine. I’ll eat the pasta in there, then.”

 

“Um…”

 

“You ate that, too? The chicken? The pizza in the freezer?”

 

“...there may be a reason I’m not so much hungry tonight,” Porthos says, tilting his head back and sending Aramis a begging, innocent, beguiling look. Aramis just scowls as hard as he can. “It was mostly at lunch time. Mostly. I didn’t mean to. Not really. Only, I was writing, and then I got distracted by this little baby, and then… well, she was hungry, so we had another lunch, and then, there was the pizza. You know how I like pizza.”

 

Aramis stomps to the kitchen. He searches for something that Porthos hasn’t eaten, and comes up with pasta and cheese, then realises there’s no cheese. He makes a baked potato and eats it with butter, tuna and mayo. Porthos comes padding in half-way through. Aramis expects an apology, but Porthos ignores him, taking the kitten to the water bowl, watching her lap some up, then feeding her, then he leaves again. 

 

“You need to go shopping tomorrow,” Aramis calls after him.

 

“‘Kay,” Porthos says. “Maybe I’ll take Creampuff. Want to come shopping, baby?”

 

“S’posed to call  _ me  _ baby,” Aramis grumbles. 

 

Porthos doesn’t hear.

 

*

 

When Porthos joins Aramis in bed, later, he brings Creampuff with him. Aramis tucks his head under the pillow and turns his back on them. Porthos sighs a few times, which means he wants cuddles, but Aramis is feeling petty so he pretends he’s asleep. 

 

“Stupid sulking Aramis,” Porthos mutters. “You’ll cuddle me, won’t you, baby? God.”

 

“Porthos?” Aramis asks, turning over, extracting himself from the pillows. “Hey. I’m just sulking, what’s the matter?”

 

“Nothin’. Cuddlin’ with Creampuff, now,” Porthos says. 

 

“Now who’s sulking?” Aramis says, wrapping his arms around Porthos. 

 

“Me.”

 

Aramis snorts, stroking Porthos’ hair. Porthos gives him a small smile, then sighs again, shutting his eyes. Creampuff’s tucked between his shoulder and the pillow, burrowed into his hair on the other side to Aramis. 

 

“Both of us are cuddling with you, now,” Aramis says. 

 

“Just had a panic attack, earlier. Feeling a bit shit.”

 

“Oh. Sorry. Bet I didn’t help with that.”

 

“Eh.”

 

“Sleep, then, baby. You’ll feel better in the morning, mm?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Aramis sighs, content for the moment, even with the little tiny kitten there. It looks almost sweet, curled against Porthos’ ear. It really is very little. Maybe it needs a bit of Porthos’ protection and petting, and maybe Porthos needs some kitten-shaped company sometimes. 

 

*

 

Aramis has a cold. He’s had a cold for an entire day. He’s been curled up on Porthos’ sofa, in the office, hoping that Porthos will notice he’s all snuffly and stuffed up and headache-y. Porthos is writing, and he doesn’t always notice things when he’s writing so Aramis is in a forgiving mood. Until, that is, the kitten comes in. It comes in with it’s tail high in the air, mewling. It walks up to Porthos’ ankle and sinks it’s tiny claws in. Porthos absently reaches down and scoops it up, settling it on the desk, typing one handed. 

 

The kitten keeps on batting at Porthos’ hand, chasing it across the keyboard. Porthos just laughs. Then, and this is what really gets Aramis, Porthos leans back, letting the kitten curl up on his chest, and starts some kind of speech to text programme. It’s nice, because Aramis likes listening to Porthos’ voice, and he likes Porthos’ writing. But, really, it should be Aramis curled up on Porthos’ chest, not the kitten. Porthos is still just mostly ignoring Aramis. 

 

Okay, so Aramis has a blanket and a hot water bottle, and he’s had a steady supply of tissues and lemon and honey, and Porthos has kissed his forehead to check for fever. And maybe, just maybe, his cold is pretty much only a runny nose and he might be making a bit of a fuss, but really. What does one have to do around here to get some Porthos petting? Turn into a kitten, clearly. Aramis considers trying that, for a moment. 

 

“Porthos, has my fever gone up?” he asks. 

 

“Nope. You don’t have a fever, snotty. You have allergies. Take an antihistamine and you’ll feel loads better, like I said four times already.”

 

Aramis opens his mouth to reply, but then he sneezes. More than once. It’s snotty, and gross, and makes his head throb. He moans when the sneezing stops, and leans back into the couch, holding a handful of tissues over his face. He sneezes yet again. When he can open his eyes, Porthos is holding out a bottle of water and a blister pack of allergy meds. Aramis sighs, but takes a pill and naps while it kicks in. 

 

To his chagrin, he’s entirely better when he wakes up. Aside from still being ever so slightly congested, and having a very slightly sore throat from sneezing all day. Porthos is sat at the desk, eating a sandwich, stroking the kitten, still using the speech to text. Aramis sighs loudly, but Porthos just sends him an amused look and waggles his hand, waving him away. Aramis gets up and droops out of the room, blanket around his shoulders, feeling despondent. 

 

Porthos comes out fifteen minutes later, with an empty plate. Aramis looks hopefully up from his book. Porthos comes over. Aramis smiles, reaching. Porthos grins, dumps the kitten in Aramis’ lap, ruffles Aramis’ hair, and beats a hasty retreat, shutting the office door firmly. At least it’s on both of them, this time. The outlaws. The rejects. The kitten mewls. 

 

“Yeah, I know,” Aramis says. “You’re totally right. He should come pet us, shouldn’t he?”

 

The kitten kneads Aramis’ thigh, and Aramis sighs, stroking it. It really is very soft. Aramis runs his finger over the little back, and Creampuff arches into the touch, flopping down on Aramis, purring. The purs are so big in the tiny body that the entire thing vibrates wildly. Aramis’ lips twitch up, out of his control. 

 

*

 

“She can sleep with me, tonight,” Aramis whispers, later, when Porthos comes in cradling the cat. 

 

“Mm? Wha’?” Porthos says, around a huge yawn. “‘m tired. Shh.”

 

He crashes onto the bed, face down, holds the kitten to his cheek, and settles into sleep. He does not give the kitten to Aramis to sleep with. Neither does he give Aramis a hug. Or a kiss. Or even a nice little hair stroke. Aramis huffs. Porthos’ arm falls across Aramis’ side, and Aramis supposes that’ll have to do. 

 

*

 

“You cannot cook with the cat,” Athos says, when he walks into the kitchen. 

 

Aramis follows, curious. He maybe misheard and thought Porthos was cooking the cat. He is going to save Creampuff from a grisly death. Creampuff, though, is safe and happy in the pocket of Porthos’ apron, judging by the squirming movement there. 

 

“Is that a kitten, or are you pleased to see me?” Aramis asks, laughing at his own joke, unable to help himself. 

 

“It’s a kitten,” Porthos says, rather shortly. “Go away, I’m cooking. I left the wine in the other room.”

 

Athos turns abruptly and leaves, going for the wine. Aramis goes to wraps his arms around Porthos’ waist, trying to get a kiss hello. Porthos slaps his hands away and moves out of his grasp, glaring. 

 

“Cooking,” Porthos repeats. 

 

“How come Creampuff is allowed?” Aramis asks. 

 

The kitten’s head pops out of the apron, then, and Porthos’ face goes soft and happy. He fishes the cat out, holding her to his chest and stroking her, cooing. Aramis scowls. He wants some nice hair petting. His hair hasn’t been petted in ages. It’s beginning to get less silky smooth without its regular Porthos-strokes. 

 

“Out, Aramis. We’re  _ cooking _ ,” Porthos says. 

 

Which is fair enough. Porthos hates human company when he’s putting together one of his masterpieces. Actually, Aramis is pretty sure Porthos just finds cooking for company stressful. When it’s just them eating, Porthos is much more laid back. Athos is here, though, so Aramis leaves Porthos to it and goes to the living-room. Athos is already settled on the sofa with a large glass of red wine. 

 

“Porthos is getting better at picking these,” Athos says, taking an appreciative sip. 

 

“I picked it,” Aramis says, acerbically, pouring himself some and throwing himself down beside Athos. “Obviously. Porthos does nothing, these days, except write, sleep, and cuddle with that blasted cat.”

 

“Jealousy is beautiful on you,” Athos says, laughing silently. Aramis knows he’s laughing. He just knows. He can feel it. 

 

“I’m not jealous of a cat. Obviously.”

 

There’s a yelp from the kitchen, then a crash, then running water and cursing, then Porthos comes out, looking a little appalled. He’s got a wriggling tea towel. 

 

“Um,” Porthos says. “You were right, Athos. No cooking with the cat.”

 

“What happened?” Athos asks. 

 

“She, um, fell. Into the… into the tomato sauce. I hadn’t got it hot yet, luckily, she’s fine,” Porthos says. 

 

“Is our dinner fine?” Athos asks. 

“Nope,” Porthos says. “I have pizza in the freezer, you’ll still get fed.”

 

A little head pokes out of the tea towel. Porthos sets the whole thing carefully on Aramis’ belly, then retreats back to the kitchen. Aramis unwraps his present. There’s still some red in Creampuff’s fur. She’s entirely white, so it shows up. Aramis tries not to, but he finds himself laughing softly, stroking the little thing. 

 

“Good girl. Aren’t you clever?” Aramis says, quietly enough that Porthos won’t hear. “Getting into mischief. Very good.”

 

“Well, I suppose even you can’t be jealous of something that small and helpless,” Athos says. “She’s very cute.”

 

“So soft, too,” Aramis whispers, grinning. “Just feel her fur, Athos.”

 

Athos shifts closer. When Porthos comes to tell them it’s dinner, Aramis and Athos and the cat are all curled up together. Athos and Aramis are cooing and stroking it, both entirely captivated by it. Porthos gives them both lovely big soft smiles, when they pass him on their way to the kitchen. He plucks Creampuff out of Aramis’ arms, though. Aramis scowls. 

 

*

 

Porthos goes to bed first, for once. Mostly because Aramis stays up drinking wine with Athos, and it gets quite late. When he finally stumbles through, Athos settled in the guest room, he expects Porthos to be asleep. Porthos is not asleep. He’s awake, eyes heavy but open. He holds out an arm. Aramis sighs blissfully and falls into it, into his cuddle. 

 

“Where’s Creampuff?” Porthos asks, extracting his arm from under Aramis. “You were meant to bring her.”

 

Aramis scowls. So the cuddle was still for the cat. Even though the cat was absent. Aramis turns his back to Porthos. 

 

“I let Athos have her,” Aramis admits, after a minute of Porthos mumbling about the kitten. 

 

“...oh,” Porthos says. 

 

Aramis smirks. Porthos would never, ever take the kitten from  _ Athos _ . Just Aramis gets kittens confiscated. Athos gets to keep them. Which means… which means, of course, that as soon as Porthos thinks Aramis is sufficiently asleep, he sneaks out of their bed and into Athos’, with the kitten. And Athos. And not Aramis.

 

*

 

It comes to a head. As things must. Aramis gets home on Friday before Porthos. He settles in the living-room with a book, and Creampuff comes over and mewls until Aramis picks her up for snuggles. Aramis is content, waiting smugly for Porthos to get home and taste his own medicine. But then Porthos does get home, and he comes into the living-room looking very, very sheepish. With an extra bulge in his jumper. 

 

“Did you… steal something?” Aramis asks, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“No. I got it fair and square, they were giving it away. And, you know me, Aramis. And it was just so little. It’s only tiny, it’ll fit fine in here with just you and me and Creampuff, and Athos when he’s drunk. Plenty of space.”

 

Aramis, disregarding his feeling of foreboding, smiles. Smiling is a bad idea. It encourages Porthos. Porthos smiles back, and his jumper moves. Aramis stares. Porthos bites his lip, then untucks his jumper, reaching carefully up, and withdraws… a very small puppy. Aramis’ mouth drops open. Porthos beams at him, carrying the puppy over in both his hands, sitting eagerly beside Aramis and showing the tiny dog off. As if it’s not a dog. In their house. Yet another animal. That will want cuddles, in all probability. 

 

It yaps, wriggles, and licks Porthos’ face. Creampuff defects from camp-Aramis, curious about the new arrival, and takes herself off to Porthos’ thigh, investigating the puppy. The puppy investigates right back, barking high and excited, trying to lick the kitten. It hisses, then rubs its face against Porthos’ hand, then licks the dog back. 

 

“Aw, they’re friends. Great. It’ll be fine, see? I’m callin’ him ‘Darling’, but I know you won’t like that, so you can call him ‘Eames’. You know, like  _ Inception _ ,” Porthos says. 

 

“Eames calls Arthur ‘darling’ so shouldn’t I call him Arthur?” Aramis asks, feeling faint. 

 

“No, because, my theory, my theory is that Arthur’s cross with Eames because ‘darling’ is  _ Arthur’s  _ thing, that he calls Eames when he’s sloppy and tired and cute, and Eames is teasing the shit out of him, because Eames is a twat and really what else would you do in a firefight but tease the love of your life?” Porthos says. “So, you can call my Darling ‘Eames’.”

 

“And you call Creampuff ‘baby’,” Aramis says, scowling, crossing his arms. Porthos is supposed to call  _ him _ baby and darling. Not these little tiny… tiny… Aramis reaches out to touch Eames, and he’s so soft. “Aw.”

 

“Isn’t he the sweetest thing?” Porthos says, beaming.

 

“No,” Aramis snaps, withdrawing his hand from puppy-range.

 

Porthos’ face falls, crumpling in on itself. He gives Aramis a sad look, then nuzzles the puppy, closing his eyes, sighing deeply. 

 

“I should’ve checked before I got him,” Porthos says. “Okay. I’ll take him somewhere else, okay? Sorry.”

 

“You… you’d do that?” Aramis asks. “Just like that? No trying to persuade me? No begging? No big eyes?”

 

“Aramis, it’s your home, you numpty. I’m not gonna make you keep an animal you don’t want.”

 

“What about Creampuff?”

 

“You love Creampuff, you keep trying to steal her.”

 

That’s true, Aramis supposes. He can’t really deny it when he’s just scooped her up off Porthos’ thigh and has her cradled against his chest. He looks down at the little kitten, and feels all soft and schmoopy inside. Then he looks up at Porthos, and his heart melts a little more. Then he looks at Eames, and he’s done. He’s gone. There’s no good ending to this.

 

“I have a suggested compromise,” Aramis says, slowly, looking back at Creampuff. 

 

“No, no. I’ll take him away. I don’t think it’ll be a good home for him, anyway, if you don’t like him,” Porthos says. 

 

“My compromise is,” Aramis says, not looking up from Creampuff, “that he can stay.”

 

“That isn’t a compromi-”

 

“But. He can stay, but.”

 

“Alright, tell me about your butt,” Porthos says, pinching Aramis’ thigh. He can’t really reach Aramis’ arse, seeing as Aramis is sat on it, but Aramis gets the pun. He slaps Porthos hand away and scoots out of reach, pressing his face into Creampuff’s fur. 

 

“He can stay, but only if you cuddle me, too. And pet my hair again,” Aramis whispers, very fast. 

 

Porthos remains silent. Aramis blinks away a shock of unexpected tears, and looks up. Porthos is staring at him, looking bemused. And amused. Aramis scowls, more tears breaking over his cheeks. 

 

“Oh, Aramis! Come here, you complete and utter twat,” Porthos says. Aramis shakes his head, cuddling closer to Creampuff. “Come on, come here, you lovely creature.”

 

Aramis goes, with a show of reluctance. Porthos takes Creampuff, and Aramis whines. Then he’s in Porthos’ arms, neither kitten nor puppy between him and Porthos, and it’s  _ wonderful _ . Aramis might cry just a little. 

 

“You’re a daft sod, you know that?” Porthos says, stroking his hair. Aramis sighs happily. “Could’ve just asked, you twat. I’ve been busy, and I’m so fucking stressed right now. Wouldn’t mind more cuddles, but I’m not much company for humans.”

 

“Always want cuddles,” Aramis admits. “You’re not replacing me with a cat?”

 

Porthos laughs, and that’s just mean but he’s still so soft and comfy and comforting and warm that Aramis just stays securely in his arms.

 

“No, you tward. I’m not replacing you with a cat. Or a puppy. They’re just cute and soft and cuddly and, aw, ‘mis! They’re so sweet. Look at them, all curled together, and oh my god so soft. I just love petting them and stroking them and cuddling with them,” Porthos says, getting excited again. 

 

“But what about loving  _ me  _ and petting  _ me  _ and stroking  _ me  _ and cu-”

 

“Yes, dear,” Porthos says, petting Aramis’ hair, over his shoulder, holding him closer. “I’ll still love you and pet you and stroke you and cuddle you, too. You are a grown, polyamorous man, and you’re worried about me maybe loving a cat or a dog more than you?”

 

“No, of course not,” Aramis says. “That would be silly.”

 

“Yeah, just a bit.”

 

“Yeah. You’re just a really giant squishy, plenty of love to go around to everyone and everything in the entire world and still have heaps and heaps left over for me,” Aramis says, sighing, content. 

 

“Exactly. Well, I don’t know about everyone. I don’t think much of that new bloke at your work. What’s his name? Greg?”

 

Aramis laughs, pressing his face into Porthos’ shoulder. He feels Porthos shift, and then feels something soft against his cheek. 

 

“Feel how soft,” Porthos whispers. 

 

Aramis laughs, making room for the animals between them. They are, after all, quite cuddly. 

 


End file.
